Despair and Hope--Chapter 14
by Kari
Summary: Rose meets a young artist in a park who helps her escape.


Despair and Hope--Chapter 14 

By Kari Raines @ TrekGirl2000@netscape.net 

Author's note: Welcome to the next little chapter of my Titanic story! Yes, this chapter is longer than my last ones have been. I'm trying to lengthen them back up. I know this isn't as long as some, but I thought the ending was a good place to stop. And expect the pace to pick up. I have most of this story planned out, but remember I take suggestions! ;-) All feedback is welcome and wanted. 

Dedications: This is for all you people who have been reading this story and reviewing it. Thank you, Matthew, Frankia, Nadine, Stephanie, Lynnette, Mattie, and everyone whose name I can't remember. I'm writing this purely from memory, so forgive me if I didn't mention you. One day I'll make a list for reference . . . 

CINESCAPE magazine published a letter I wrote in their May/June issue. Pretty cool, huh? It's the very first letter on the page, so check it out if you think about it. =) 

~~~~~~~~~~ 

"I would like to go for a walk today," Rose announced, as she entered the study confidently. Cal and Ruth had been talking again. They were always talking in hushed, angry tones these days--mostly about her, of course. 

They both turned to look at her, startled by her sudden intrusion. Then there was the reaction she had been waiting for--the widening of her eyes at the site of her short hair. 

"Rose, what did you do to yourself?" Cal asked slowly, voice threatening. 

Rose ignored him. "I will be home in time for lunch, Mother." 

Ruth stood silently, her mouth hanging open slightly. "Rose . . . you can't go like that. People will see you." 

Rose pushed down the anger that threatened to break free from the surface. "What are you more worried about, Mother? My hair, or the bruise that my loving fiancee left me right before he tried to rape me?" She knew that she shouldn't have said this, but she couldn't stop herself. Cal would be angry, but he wouldn't dare hurt her in front of Ruth. 

Ruth's face went deadly pale as she looked between the two of them. Cal, on the other hand, had turned into a deep shade of crimson. "Surely . . . you must be mistaken," Ruth stammered. "Cal told me that he tripped and . . . accidentally hit you . . . you must have thought . . ." 

She rolled her eyes in disgust. Her mother would believe anything if it insured that she never had to work for what she had. 

"Rose, how dare you say such things to your mother?" 

She ignored him as she turned from the room, fuming. She stalked into the parlor, ignoring the piteous looks she received from the servants. Let them gawk. She stopped as she stared at the entrance of the house. Only a few steps away was freedom. 

She began to walk, the door seeming only further away with each step. Almost there . . . she could practically feel the door handle beneath her fingers as she reached out-- 

But she was stopped as a firm hand latched onto her arm, whirling her around. She looked into the handsome, angry face of Caledon Hockley. "Where do you think you're going?" he shouted, not attempting to hide any of his anger. 

"I told you--I'm going for a walk," she hissed through clenched teeth. 

He tightened his grip on her arm. "You do nothing unless I give you permission. Is that understood?" 

"Yesterday, you were so worried that I wouldn't get out of bed. Today I'm not even allowed some fresh air." 

She winced as he raised his hand into the air, but suddenly, Ruth appeared in the room. At the look on her face, he stopped, lowering his arm hesitantly. Cal let go of her arms, taking a deep breath to calm himself. 

"Go put on a hat," he told her, "and you're not to leave the sight of Mr. Smith." 

Rose complied hesitantly. At the moment, she didn't have much of a choice. 

As she once again headed out the door, Cal stopped her once again. "Rose," he said quietly into her ear, "if you try anything . . . " 

The words hung heavily in her ear, sending chills down her spine. He wrapped his arm around her waist, and touched his lips softly against her ear, and as he did so, Rose had no doubt in mind of his intentions. If she tried anything, he would finish what he started in the bedroom the night before. 

"Have a good time, sweetpea," he said pleasantly as he let her slip from his arms. Rose ignored him, choosing to focus instead on the freedom that waited her outside. 

It was hot today, as it should be in the middle of July. Rose was suddenly glad that she wore the hat to shield her eyes from its brightness. She had not been in the sun for a month. 

She walked slowly, unsure of where she was heading as she ignored the strange man that walked behind her. She would definitely have to lose him somehow. 

Cal's threat came back to her. But if she was to ever escape, she knew that she would have to stop being scared of him. Cal was powerful, there was no doubt about that. He had money and social status. That alone meant that he could do whatever he pleases. To top it off, he was a fairly built man. Larger than Jack, that was for sure. 

Then again, Jack had barely been twenty--barely more than a boy. Cal was nearing thirty. Maybe Jack would have filled out in the next ten years, had he been given the chance. 

But he never had that chance. Rose sighed. Don't think about it. Don't dwell on things that can't be changed. 

As she walked, she gazed around at the bustling city around her. All different types of people clustered together in small groups. There were outdoor cafes where the ladies of upper society met for brunch and to discuss the latest gossip. There were working class people on horses and foot, and some traveling by horse and carriage. But the most noticeable thing was the increasing amount of automobiles she was seeing on these streets. 

The rich drove their shiny, new cars proudly, and Rose could remember riding in such cars all her young life. Her family had owned many such vehicles, but at that point in time, cars hadn't yet been affordable or practical. Now, in cities such as these, you were beginning to see more cars than carriages. 

Rose smiled politely at the traffic officer as he waved her across the street. He bowed in respect, showing his admiration for the lady. On this day, Rose had chosen a fashionable but maneuverable pink dress, and a matching hat with a pink ribbon. It was simple, but lovely on Rose's astounding figure. She would've preferred to dress in pants, but that would've been pushing her luck. Mother and Cal would never have let her out that way, that was for sure. 

She strolled slowly down the sidewalk, gazing in the windows at the little shops. There were icecream and candy vendors, lovely little bookstores, and jewelry stores, and the butcher's shop, and the breadman's shop. Rose could smell the homey and inviting scent of a fresh loaf being baked. It somehow reminded her of being in Chippewa Falls again. She could almost imagine she was lying in Jack's bed, with the scent of the bread permeating the house as Lilly baked it in the downstairs kitchen. 

Lilly. Somehow, she had to let Lilly know she was all right. Maybe she could find a way to help her. Or Molly . . . . Molly Brown, why did you have to go back to Denver? Rose remembered the night she had found Molly's hotel room in this very city--not far from here, actually. 

She really hadn't been sure where she was going, but she knew that Jack had led her by the hand that night. She had been too frightened, too lost, too alone to help herself. She hadn't even known which suite was Molly's, but somehow, when she stood in front of Molly's door, she knew it was hers. And she knew Jack had lead her, because Jack knew that Molly would help her. 

Lost in her thoughts, Rose realized she was suddenly standing in front of a newspaper vendor. She picked one up for the first time since that night. She had not wanted to read anything about it. She had been afraid to learn who had lived and who had died. She didn't want to read of the heartbreak of others. She had been too preoccupied with her own. Simply put, it had just been too painful to read anything about Titanic in the papers. So Rose had chosen not to read them. 

But for some reason, she couldn't refuse. As she picked one up, she read that there was an investigation being conducted into the events surrounding the sinking. Momentarily, Rose's mind flashed back to the ship. She and her mother were on the bridge and Captain Smith was being a gracious host. 

Her mother asked a question about an extra wheel when another officer had approached Captain Smith. He had said something about another iceberg warning. 

Captain Smith had turned to Rose and Ruth then, smiling cheerfully. "Oh, not to worry," he had assured them. He told them it wasn't serious, and even informed them that "in fact, we're speeding up." 

With trembling fingers, Rose flipped to the next page, where she discovered that J. Bruce Ismay had testified. In a brief summary, it explained that Ismay's testimony had been unsure, with fumbled half-answers and half-truths. Before the tragedy, the man had been so easy to quote facts and statistics. 

"Pardon me, ma'am, are you going to buy that?" She turned to the boy--not older than twelve or thirteen--who ran the newspaper stand. 

Rose considered it for a moment. True, it was painful to read, but she suddenly realized that she had to know. She had to know how the investigation would turn out. She thought about Jack, and Fabrizio, and Tommy, and little Cora, and all the others she had come to know while on the ship. It was a small comfort to know that people would remember their deaths--that people cared enough to investigate. 

Smiling politely at the boy, Rose handed him a nickel before sliding the paper into her bag. Behind her, she knew that Cal's man had stopped to watch her. She tried to ignore it, but it reminded her too much of the late Lovejoy. 

She turned away, walking steadily faster, but Smith kept up. She ignored him the best she could as she continued her pace, passing shops and buildings, until she finally found what she was looking for. Abruptly, she came across the stretch of country in the middle of the city. It was the park she had come across after docking the Carpathia. The city seemed to end where she now stood, and all around her was trees and grass and several ponds. Children sailed their toy boats there, and flew kites with their parents. 

There were several groups of people here, and they all seemed happy. Rose wandered around the stretch of one pond until she came across a man and a little girl on the far side. The father and daughter posed happily for the young man who busily sketched them, a stern face across his features. 

Enthralled, Rose sat on the grass next to a young lady who observed them as well. Perhaps she was waiting for her turn. 

But her attention was turned on the young artist. As he concentrated, he slightly bit his lower lip, his eyebrows together in concentration. Rose was painfully reminded of Jack. The night he drew her, his expression had been like that. His drawing style was even similar to Jack's. He was perhaps a year or two older than Jack, with darker hair and a larger build. 

But that same fiery intensity that had attracted her to Jack was there. She could see it in his eyes. Like Jack, she instinctively knew that this one was a wanderer with dreams and ideals. His eyes--like the deep blue pools of Jack's--held that same compassion and strength. 

These thoughts--that she should compare another man to Jack--troubled her slightly. She looked away from his eyes, ashamed, as she concentrated her attention on the father and daughter. Rose was pretty sure they were of the lower class, but they seemed happy, as most lower class people she met. As a child, she had secretly always envied this. The rich had money and power, but it cost them their freedom and happiness. Rose never thought that to be a fair exchange. 

The poor had soul and character--such as these two: a loving father happy to have his portrait painted with his daughter while having a nice day at the park. The rich never cherished such simple but precious things. 

Finally, the young artist added his final touches and presented his finished product to the two of them. The young girl--about six or seven--squealed with delight while the man shook the artist's hand happily. As the two left, the young man looked at Rose, smiling politely. Rose's heart leapt. His smile was as sincere as Jack's had been. 

"Would to like me to draw your portrait, miss? It'd normally cost ten cents, but for a young woman your beauty, I'll take a nickel." Rose smiled politely as she almost refused, but she stopped suddenly. A strange feeling settled over her that she should allow him to draw her. 

"Of course," she said with a small smile, digging into her purse for the nickel. He accepted it happily, and before she realized what was happening, she was in position, and he was drawing away. Once again, she found herself focusing on his intense concentration. As she looked into his eyes, she imaged that it was Jack who was drawing her. They were together in New York. It had been three months, and they had married immediately. 

Now, on this lovely day in July, they had gone to the park together. They were so happy. And now Jack was drawing her in the light of mid-morning. 

The young man cleared his throat suddenly. Rose blinked, startled, as she realized she'd been staring at him. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as he smiled slightly. She looked away, forcing herself not to look at him as he continued drawing. Being as still as possible, she focused on the families playing together, and imagined that she and Jack and their daughter were among those families. 

Her thoughts drifted, and she found herself alone with Jack in this very park. The sun was just setting, and a gentle afternoon breeze swept through the land, cooling the summertime heat. She and Jack lay together on a single blanket, wrapped in one another's arms. After the sun set, they made love under the light of the stars--concentrating solely on each other. It didn't matter if they got caught, because they got caught. It didn't matter that they lived in a day and age where such things were considered atrocious. All that mattered was their love and their passion. 

"All done," the artist announced. 

Leaving her daydreams for another time, Rose walked around to inspect his work. "A very excellent likeness," she announced with satisfaction. She didn't think it was quite as good as Jack's, but he had the talent and the skill, there was no doubt about that. "This is quite good. Do you have more of your work with you?" 

He laughed slightly, his blue eyes flashing. "Not on me. I have some more up at my apartment if you'd care to see it. At the moment I don't have any other clients, and I don't have any other plans." 

She hesitated. He seemed sincere, as Jack had. He seemed to have a good soul. But as she glanced behind her, she saw Smith squirming impatiently next to the pond. He watched her from a distance, a permanent look of suspicion on his bland features. 

She leaned in closer to the artist, lowering her voice. She had to lose Smith, and this kind young artist might be the only opportunity she had. "I would like to, but I have this problem. She that man over there?" she asked, indicating Smith with her eyes. 

He nodded curiously. 

"He's sort of . . . well, he's following me. I'm going to need your help to get away." 

His eyes widened. "Following you? Why would he be doing that?" 

Rose sighed in exasperation. "It's a long story. I'll explain it to you later." 

The young man's face suddenly became angry as he thought about it. "If he's bothering you, miss, I can take care of him--" 

"Please don't," Rose said, holding up her hand in restraint. 

He took a deep breath, nodding to calm himself. "There' a security guard, Ralph, that watches the park. It's his shift, and he's an old friend of mine. He'll take care of your problem." 

Together, they began walking, attempting to look as indiscrete as possible as the suspicious Mr. Smith followed behind. 

"I'm Rose Dawson," she introduced herself. 

"Michael Calvert," he said with a smile, taking her proffered hand and kissing it gently. She loked into his blue eyes, and she saw Jack gazing out at her. *I saw that in a nickelodean once and I always wanted to do it.* 

Just like Jack. 

~~~~~~~~~~ 

Chapter 15 coming soon! 

Note: For those of you who are wondering, this is the Calvert she eventually marries, but don't worry--it's not going to happen anytime soon. ;-) 

Please review! =) 


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